


Make The Man

by NevaRYadL



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Ashamed of Scars, Body Horror, Crude Surgery, Emotional Baggage, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mentioned Arm Mutilation, Scars, Teeth Alteration, Trans Baraka, Trans Erron Black, body issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22704361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevaRYadL/pseuds/NevaRYadL
Summary: Erron Black was human once. Shang Tsung didn't care for how finite he was.Erron Black was human once.
Relationships: Erron Black/Kotal Kahn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Make The Man

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Erron Black/Kotal Kahn, implied sexual content, body horror, mentioned crude surgery, mentioned filing down fangs, mentioned removal of spines, mentioned arm mutilation
> 
> I wrote this awhile ago, but basically based on a post I saw forever ago that theorized that Erron has lived as long as he had because his DNA was mixed with Tarkatan and also a theory on why he always wore a mask in mkx. I ran with it and added my own touches along the way.

“What the fuck did you do to me?!”

Getting approached by an innocent looking man years ago had not been out of the norm for Erron before it all started. People had heard about him from miles around, his aim was something of a legend and people were practically making lines trying to hire him on as a gun for hire. This man? He was different. Not just because he was Asian against Erron’s almost exclusively all white clientele, but he wore strange and gaudy robes as well and there was… a stench of death about him. Erron did not question, both not wanting to insult the man because he was above that, and because said man had a very large pile of bills and Erron loved a hefty pay day.

Taking that payday had been the spark of many of the fires in Erron’s life. It had taken him from Texas to Outworld and all the strange stuff there. And despite being a humble man, a human man from the 1800’s, Erron had taken it within stride well enough, all things considering. Tarkatans, mutants, Outworld folks that literally came in all shapes and sizes. The thrill had sent Erron to heaven and was perhaps the reason that Erron had almost suicidally followed thrill after thrill later in his life until Kotal straightened his ass out. 

And all while getting paid handsomely by his employer, Shang Tsung. Weird man but not abrasive in most ways that Erron’s other bosses had been. Weird as fuck though, and obviously not above getting his hands down right grisly, but not bossy or minute mangaing, which worked fine with Erron. Actually worked so well that he stayed with the man for several years, getting paid and killing and getting paid to bag people to take before Shang Tsung or Shao Kahn to get killed. Life was good…

“Your mortality is troubling.”

That one comment. That one fucking comment.

“How so?” Erron had asked, taking his cigar out of his mouth, looking away from his disassembled gun to the man that had slipped into his room at one point. He had gotten used to that as well. Fucking magic user.

“You do such excellent work for me. But your morality makes your use so… finite,” Shang Tsung had said, not at all clarifying.

“Yeah well, I ain’t no black magic user like you, boss man,” Erron had drawled lazily, returning to his gun. “I’m a regular ol’ human. So I’ll live regular ol’ human years… Maybe less considering the Outworld foods? You ever find out if half this shit will kill me in the long run?”

Shang Tsung had just smiled before disappearing again.

The next day, Shang Tsung came to him with a gift.

“How would you like to live a very long life?”

“Excuse me, boss man?”

Inside a mahogany box with crushed red velvet lining, was a small bottle filled with a brightly colored liquid that was… a color that Erron had never seen before and still to the day he did not have a name for.

“You said it yourself, you’re human so you’ll live human hours. I mean to… slow that process with my ‘black magic’. With this potion, you’ll live far longer than any human. Imagine the things you’ll see with those extra years, my faithful cohort. Imagine… the thrills.”

The nail in the coffin. Erron had made a joke as he popped the cork out with a thumb and then downed it. Did not do anything other then make his belly feel cold for a bit, but Shang Tsun assured him all was well.

“After all, I want you functioning the same as right now. What use would the potion be if it hampered you or caused you immediate pain?” Shang Tsung had grinned so slyly.

The first changes happened about eight days after the potion.

The fangs.

Erron had only worn a bandanna at that point if his identity needed to hide or he knew he had to keep his expressions out of something. Besides that he kept his face bare, helped with people trusting him and usually scored him points for a bigger payout and made flirting in negotiations easier. So when he got up and looked in the mirror on that morning, eight days after that potion, and felt something off, he bared his teeth and almost hollered at the sight of his eye teeth DEFINITELY being longer and sharper than usual.

Panicked, Erron had practically run to Shang Tsung to ask the question that he would ask the man many times before he was fucking murdered.

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

Shang Tsung had crooned a lot of words of ‘small mutations’ because he had used Outworld DNA to just slightly alter the cell decay of Erron’s body. He offered another potion and Erron had felt FEAR shoot down his spine and decided that fangs were nothing, sulking away like a kicked cat.

It had, to no one’s surprise, gotten worse.

Erron’s pair of fangs had turned into pairS of fangs. Thankfully, whatever was happening to Erron’s body, was also making the inside of Erron’s mouth, tongue and gums tougher and he was not cutting himself every time his new sharp teeth shifted. There were a few cuts, and Erron felt sick at the sight of his bloodied mouth full of fangs, something out of a dime horror novel really.

And then the split happened.

A little blood in his mouth and down his face each day as the sides of his mouth started opening more and more, coinciding with Erron’s fangs sharpening.

“What the fuck did you do to me?!”

“Mmm, I extended your life, of course! And perhaps I used you to experiment something I am working on for our Kahn,” Shang Tsung had explained. “You’ll live quite a long time. A gift from me to you.”

He had started wearing the mask after that. Hardly suited his job if people were staring at the horror show unfurling around his mouth. He got real self conscious about his looks afterwards because anyone that saw usually reacted… poorly. Really bad. Sunk in right quick that he was an ugly fuck and that his face meant pain.

The pain in his arm had started not long after that. A gods awful pain that had kept Erron awake most hours, breathing ragged and unable to do much but shake and shiver with agony. Had no idea what was up and at that point, wanted nothing to do with Shang Tsung and his vile black magic shit show, so he went to a healer instead. He trusted that kind of weird magic and alchemy over Shang Tsung any day.

“You appear to be… my apologies I don’t know how to say this but… you’re growing another bone aside side your forearm,” The healer said after using magic to look at his arm underneath the skin and muscles and nerves. All of which was turning purple and darkening more and more each day.

“Shit,” Erron had muttered, “Can you take it out?”

“I… don’t know that I can without ruining your arm, Black.”

Could not have that, but soon after his arm was wracked with so much pain that he just could not use that. Shang Tsung was beside himself, apparently more enthralled with the changes within Erron than anything else. Erron was on his fucking own again. Wrapped up in an ancient serape, mask and hat, Erron was found more often than naught sulking around the palace, beside himself.

Not long after that, he had met Baraka.

“You’re Tarkatan?” Baraka had asked him after finding Erron sulking in a dark corner of a dark room. Away from people. Away from the piece of shit Shang Tsung.

“I ain’t… no,” Erron had huffed, shaking and shivering with pain. Just wanted to be left alone.

“You smell Tarkatan,” Baraka had said, approaching Erron and sniffing loudly.

Erron was going to raise a huff and then realized that Baraka could probably help him better than anyone if he was right about Erron’s twisting features being Tarkatan. So he shyly pulled his mask down and pulled away his serape to reveal his purple and blackened arm where flesh was highly confused as to what the fuck was happening inside of it.

“What are you?” Baraka had asked, sitting in front of Erron and looking over his arm.

“Human, fucking Shang gave me something to slow my aging…”

“I see. He gave you something to mix your DNA with a Tarkatan,” Baraka had hummed. “You are growing a Tarkatan blade…” He had pressed down against another side of Erron’s arm and ripped a pained shout out of him. “Two.”

“What the fuck?” Erron had hissed.

“I see… you are that type of male?”

Erron had stiffened and his good arm went to his gun.

“I am that kind of male too, it is nothing,” Baraka had hummed and setting Erron at ease for some reason.

“Wait, really?”

“Tarkatans care of strength, not what is or is not in one’s fucking underthings,” Baraka had snapped as he had turned Erron’s this way and that. “Though Tarkatans with two blades are viewed as more fierce. And Tarkatans that remove their secondary blades? Something to be feared.”

“… So you know how to get rid of it without takin’ the arm?” Erron had asked.

“Yes.”

“Baraka… please help me.”

Baraka had frowned and it took a second for Erron to get it.

“I’m human, I ain’t meant to have shit like your people. Jesus fuck, look at my arm! It ain’t normal!”

Baraka had frowned deeply but huffed. Letting Erron’s arm go, Erron got to watch Baraka snap one of his own arm blades free before jamming it between Erron’s fangs.

“This will hurt more than anything in your life.”

Erron had just nodded.

When Baraka was done, Erron was barely conscious and feeling what the hell Baraka did to remove the budding arm blades and whatever he did to keep them from growing back. Also very grateful that apparently Baraka could sew everything back together. One bone shard that had been the start of one blade and another that was the length of Erron’s arm from wrist to elbow. Erron’s hazed over gaze had followed Baraka as he careless kicked the bone shard aside, making a disappointed sound at the back of his throat, but gazing at the blade with a critical but not unkind eye.

“This would have been a fine blade, if it had grown to length… I recommend keeping it, it is not as hard as Tarkatan bone, but harder still then that shit metal that the Kahn puts out. Make a blade out of it, wield the mutation in your blood with pride, Black.”

Erron had grunted.

“And ask a healer to file down your teeth. They will not grow back as fast as Tarkatan teeth. They will need to be filed down periodically, but better then ripping them out. They will also be able to sew the split in your mouth shut, though to make the stitching stick, the scarring will be terrible.”

Erron had grunted again.

“… Live as well as you can, Black.”

He had done as Baraka instructed. A healer filed down his teeth to something more human and sewed the split in his mouth shut, but that required snipping at the flesh to make it raw and open and stitching in this painful and ugly manner. It salvaged at least some of the humanity of his looks, but his face had just gone to shit at that point. The ugly gnarled scarring that twisted his mile into something ugly and the funny look of his teeth. To say his self esteem survived at all was… a lie. Flat out.

Fast forward a few years, a few experiences, a few more teeth being shaved down, his eyes going from dark brown to light brown, spines growing along his shoulders and upper back and then getting removed. The mutations seemed to have had slowed by the time he got cozy with Kotal, enough to get intimate despite all the scarring that made Erron shyer than a virgin on their wedding night with the sweetheart. Even his teeth did not need to get blunted as often.

“What a strange blade…”

Erron, boneless and sated and happy and glowing, was sprawled on Kotal’s sheets, one of his legs tossed over Kotal’s lap as he basked in the aftermath of the evening’s activities. At the sound of Kotal’s voice, Erron cracked an eye to see that Kotal was looking at the blade. The blade that Baraka had taken out of his arm and then Erron had fashioned into a crude sword that had saved his life more times than he wanted to admit. He was losing the happy high and feeling dread as he usually did when someone skimmed the ugly truth of Erron’s ugliness.

“Tarkatan bone,” Erron muttered.

“Hmm…” Kotal hummed, but put it aside, away from the bed, before leaning over to Erron. Warm lips pressed against his mouth, and then the gnarled scarring along the sides. Made Erron hum appreciatively, smiling as Kotal kissed his scars.

When he ran his fingers through Kotal’s braids, Kotal gathered up the hand and pulled it to his mouth, kissing the rough knuckles sweetly, his gun calloused fingertips, his rough palm, down the length of his arm. It was, unfortunately, the arm that Baraka had sliced open to get the arm blade out of, and Kotal ran his lips along the scars just as lovingly as the ones on Kotal’s face.

“You have such interesting scars,” Kotal hummed when he paused to kiss the scar on the outside side of Erron’s arm, where the barely formed arm blade had been ripped free.

“Meh,” Erron hummed, feeling agitation swelling within.

Kotal hummed softly, kissing his way up Erron’s bicep, along his collarbone and then along his chest. Thankfully, only a few scars there. Mostly battle injuries. Top surgery scars, from Kotal’s healer and coin none the less. The hard edge of agitation was melting away.

“My sun,” Kotal rumbled against Erron’s belly and the loose and rough hair decorating it.

“Darlin’ you can’t be doin’ that to my poor heart without warnin’,” Erron groaned.

Kotal just grinned wickedly and then kissed his way back up, making his up the side of Erron’s neck and finding a round scar from one of the spines that Erron had removed, sucking on it softly and making Errong jolt and stiffen underneath the man.

“Honeysuckle, you’re…” Erron shuddered.

“Hmm?” Kotal hummed against Erron’s skin.

“I… I need a minute, please give me space.”

Kotal pulled away, looking gravely concerned as Erron pulled away from him, rubbing at where Kotal was just lovingly sucking and nibbling on. There were only scars now, but Erron’s fingers still remembered bone spines that had shredded a few garments before Erron had a healer stuff a bit between his teeth and ripped them all out like nails.

“My sun?” Kotal asked, soft and concerned.

“… You remember how I said that Shang gave me somethin’ to make me live longer?” Erron muttered, hand moving down to rub his scarred arm. There would always be a bit of numbness along the worst of the scarring, but it had been so long that Erron hardly noticed now-a-days.

“Yes.”

“… Well it changed me. Apparently Shang used it to make me live longer so I’d serve him longer, but also test how Tarkatan DNA could take to other kinds.”

Kotal’s eyes opened wide.

“He used me… as a test trial for Mileena… grew fangs at first. Still have to get them filed down else they come back. Then my arm…” Erron gestured to the scarred arm, “Tried to grow arm blades. Was givin’ me hell, so I had to get Baraka to rip them out and make it so it’d never be a problem again. And then the spines on my shoulders came in after that, had to get them all ripped out too.”

“Erron…”

“My mouth started to split too,” Erron said, rubbing a hand along his heavily scarred lower face. “They had to rip it up and stitch it bad to get it to not do it…. Can you imagine how I’d look if I had just let that shit grow in? I mean I look ugly as all sin now but…”

“The scars trouble you…” Kotal offered softly.

“Yeah… you make me feel a lot better about them but… just thinkin’ about it… I can’t…”

Kotal held out his hands, a gentle offering with no force. Erron slid his hands into those big one, letting the man gently slid up to gently grab his elbows and then tug him into the man’s lap. He put his face into Kotal’s warm shoulder, hiding the ugly away from Kotal’s eyes.

“I wish to help, but I do not know how. How may I help you, my sun?”

“I… I know I’m ugly but… you’re not gonna drop me for someone pretty are you?” Erron muttered. “Even if all that shit comes back?”

“No, I would not. Because, my precious summer light, I feel for the man, not his skin. I love the heart, the body is but an object to hold the soul that I cherish,” Kotal rumbled, rubbing hands up and down Erron’s back, sometimes brushing the scars of where the spines had once been. “And regardless of the scars, you are a handsome man, Erron. And even the mutations come back, my love would remain unchanged. My attraction would remain unchanged. Nothing would change unless you wanted it too.”

Erron sniffled against Kotal’s shoulder, snuggling closer. Kotal turned to nose through his hair.

“Sorry, I just…”

“I focused on the scars that bother you most. My apologies.”

“Don’t… Don’t apologize, you didn’t know…”

Kotal hugged him close, pressed tight against the man’s hot and muscular chest. Erron, feeling aching soft and safe and comfortable, melted into the embrace.

“My thanks for sharing this detail about yourself, my sun.”

Erron sighed happily.

“If I have not spoiled the mood for the eve, may I bath you and hold you for the night?”

“Nothin’ would make me happier,” Erron smiled.

Kotal pulled his head back and kissed him soft and sweet on his lips. Erron eagerly kissed back, that mushy and happy blissed out haze returning, even more so when the big man picked him up, giving him that heart melting smile of his, and carried him to the bathroom.

“What was that name you used earlier?”

“Honeysuckle?”

“Yes.”

“Just a sweet little pet name, sugar.”

Kotal smiled so aching soft and sweet that Erron felt his heart flip.

“I like it.”

“Gods be damned, I love you, you big softie.”

“I love you too, my sun,” Kotal grinned.


End file.
